


That's a Frightfully Big Duckling

by RiaTheDreamer



Series: S15 Missing Scenes [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Missing Scene, Self-Esteem Issues, Spoilers for s15 e15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: You know how ducklings make this special bond with the first person they see, following them around no matter what you do and suddenly you are in charge of an orange, fragile being?...Locus was the first person Grif had seen in a very long time.





	That's a Frightfully Big Duckling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hazk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazk/gifts).



Locus is staring at him, eyes unblinking behind the visor. “Are you capable of being quiet?”

For a brief, too short moment Grif is silent as he considers his question. “I think. Maybe. I could try, probably, do you want me to?” His helmet snaps to the left as he stares at Locus again.

“Yes.” A simple answer to a painfully easy question.

“Okay. Great. I can do that. No problem.” Grif is twiddling his thumbs again. “At all. Just super. Super duper. Watch me be quiet. No, _stupid_ , you don’t watch that, you hear that, c’mon, Grif.” His head jerks forward as he scolds himself. When he is a relaxed again after a slow inhale he turns to convince Locus of his skill. “I can be quiet.”

But Locus has come to know his new… - well, Grif uses the term _partner_ while Locus prefers _temporary teammate_. But he has not spoken that thought out loud. Point still is that Grif has not succeeded in being quiet yet. “Obviously,” Locus replies dryly.

And there are a few seconds of blissful, sweet silence.

But then Grif shifts in his seat again, his hands grasping each other tightly, and with a nervous rambling the silence is broken. “But, you know, maybe, I can be quiet, and that’s good, awesome, but that does not mean you have to be quiet? Right?”

Locus has observed how Grif acts after the few moments of silence. His body gesture is tense, he keeps his hands busy, his breathing grows quicker, and then finally he cannot resist opening his mouth. Painfully annoying and rather unnerving. So Locus asks, “How long were you at the moon?”

“I…” Grif freezes for a second, eyes darting around behind his visor as he tries to find an answer. “Some days. A lot. Lots of time, oozes of time. Kinda mixed together, you know. Sarge got bored a lotta times so, yeah, probably a bit too long. Probably. But that’s over now. You’re here, and Lopez is here and we are gonna find the others. Do you have a pump?”

The change of subject is so sudden that Locus has to blink. “What?”

“For Church. He needs someone blowing him. Gah, that was Donut’s line, I stole it, fuck. Sorry, Donut, I-“

“Stop conversing with the volleyballs,” Locus tells him sternly.

Grif has just slammed his palm against his helmet, cursing his own stupidity, but the order makes him snap out of it and his hand falls down to rest in his lap. His visor is fixated on the control panel in front of them. “Can I drive?”

Another easy question.

“No.”

* * *

“Eat.”

Locus places the cooked MRE in front of him. With his helmet off Grif looks just as bad as Locus has suspected from the lack of sanity. Greasy, dark hair hangs down his forehead, long enough to almost touch his nose. There are bags under his eyes, the lower part of his face is unshaven, and he faintly reminds Locus of a prisoner of war.

But he has seen worse. Probably looked worse.

There are obvious signs of malnutrition, and maybe if he waits long enough Grif will faint and be quiet.

But at least eating will force his mouth to be shut for some moments.

When he looks down at the plate of food in front of him, Grif’s eyes light up briefly. “Oh, fucking yes.  Dude, did you cook this? That’s so awesome, thanks, do you cook in your spare time? When you and Felix weren’t killing people, did you cook yourself or did you like have people to do that? Ooh, or did you order pizzas? I did tell you about _Sammy’s_? They have the best crust and-“

“ _Eat_.” Locus sits down in the seat next to him, praying that he can get to eat his own dinner in peace.

Grif follows orders and eat. It is almost heartbreaking to realize his manners are not the best – which should not have been the biggest surprise – and that eating does not prevent him from talking. “Do you eat pizza a lot?  You look like a burrito guy-“

“With your mouth _closed_.” His jaw muscles hurt from being so tense.

“Simmons used to tell me that all the time.” Grif stops eating, clenching his fork tightly. “You’re eating with your mouth open, Grif. It’s gross, Grif. You disgust me, Grif. Man, I miss Simmons. This is really good. Do you want to be a cook after this? Like, redemption through gravy. Can I drive?”

Locus wonders if this ship is capable of flying faster. “No.”

* * *

There are others ways to keep a man quiet – ways that do not involve a gag – and Grif looks like might nod off at any moment. But his glassy, red-rimmed eyes stay open, fighting against heavy eyelids.

He blinks often and continues to talk, even after Locus has banished him to a secluded room – with a comfortable distance from the cockpit – and given him a bedroll and dimmed the light and watched Grif carry all his painted volleyballs with him to the sleeping area.

“No, this is fine, great. Pillows are overrated. I bet you can sleep while standing. I did that once but then Sarge just began to aim at my head to see if I would dodge the shot. Who drives the ship when you’re sleeping? Wait, who’s driving it right now? Do you think-“

Locus steps out of the room and closes the door. It is not completely soundproof but it muffles the ramblings and at least it sends Grif a firm message that the conversation is over.

There is a growing headache inside Locus’ skull. He considers trying to get some hours of rest as well since he doubt he will be given any chance to do so while Grif is awake.

The moment he steps inside his own quarters he feels a presence behind him. Like a person breathing down his neck despite Locus still wearing his armor.

Locus sighs.

 “I told you to remain in your appointed quarters.”

When he turns around Grif is indeed standing there, looking awfully pathetic in his undersuit. His dirty hair has escaped the loosely made bun, and Grif keeps shifting the weight on his feet. “Yep. Heard that order. Followed it too, just like you said, but I woke up.”

“I see that.”

He glares at him.

Grif seems to shrink under his stare. “…You want me to go back? Right. I can do that. Right now. Just watch me. Are you coming with me or-?”

Locus drags him back to his room, gives him the order again, and shuts the door behind him.

Peace.

For a moment. A few minutes later he can hear the muffled conversation from down the hall. He _could_ stop trying to care whether the sim trooper sleeps or not, but the thought of dragging a delusional Grif into a firefight makes him frown. Getting him killed within the first five minutes would not earn him trust from the Freelancers and other sim troopers. Perhaps with the colonel as the exception.

 Locus sighs, turns around and heads into the room again.

Grif is keeping himself busy with a Spanish conversation.

“¿Es Simmons todavía loco por esa cosa del cuscús? Porque lo tiré todo por si regresó, pero no lo hizo, ¿y los chicos hablaron de volver? No lo sé. No volvería por mí, probablemente no lo harían, ¿mencionaron que me odian? Pero sin el cuscús la nevera estaba bastante vacío, así que-” [-is Simmons still mad about that couscous thing? Because I threw it all out in case he came back, but he didn’t, and did the guys ever talk about coming back? I don’t know. I wouldn’t come back for me, they probably wouldn’t, did they mention that they hate me? But without the couscous the fridge was pretty empty so I-]

“Alguien, por favor, cárgueme.” [Someone, please, shut me down.]

“Locus!” When he steps into the room, Grif’s head snaps towards him. He smiles brightly before looking at Lopez’ head again. “See, I told you it wasn’t nap time yet.”

Lopez tries to gain Locus’ attention. “Sálvame.” [Save me.]

He had almost forgotten they had brought the robot to the room. He had probably missed it in the pile of balls. But it serves as a distraction for Grif and that is not tolerable.

Locus kneels down and picks him up. Grif remains sitting while Locus informs him, “I need your robot to require further information about this submerged lair.”

“Oh, cool, are we discussing battles plans now? ‘cause Sarge taught me a lot about strategies even though he thought I was not listening but I totally was and –“

“You are no good help to your friends if sleep-deprived,” Locus finally lets him know and looks carefully for any reactions to this truth.

Grif’s expression crumbles slightly as a flash of desperation sneaks its way to his eyes. “…I want to help, I can-“

“I know.”

He inhales and rubs the back of his neck, looking at the wall. Maybe he sees something Locus does not. Hallucinations are apparently not something new to him. “Simmons says I sleep too much.”

Locus turns his head slightly to stare at the volleyball with maroon paint. “Well, then this Simmons is wrong.”

Grif gasps, eyes widened with horror. “You can’t say that to his face. His feelings always get hurt when superiors disagree with him.”

“I am not your superior.”

“But your voice is totally scary enough to be a drill sergeant-“

“ _Sleep_.”

Locus let the door slid close again as he walks down the hallway. He considers locking it.

Lopez decides to tell him the obvious, “Ha perdido la cabeza.” [He has lost his mind.]

“I can see that.”

He puts Locus on a tall shelf where Grif cannot reach him – the robot requested so – and thinks that is the end of it.

Of course he is wrong.

He can hear the muffled muttering through the door. Locus is not quite sure why he decides to look inside again, this time trying to make his presence unknown.

Grif is finally curled up on the bedroll, hugging the maroon volleyball tightly. He is talking to it with a hushed voice, “-and we’re gonna find the others and I’ll say I’m sorry and they won’t be as mad and they’ll come with us back to the moon and then Simmons can see how nicely I cleaned the place and –“

Locus closes the door quietly. He then tries to recall old torture methods in order to remember how long it is possible for a human to stay awake.

* * *

Locus refrains from calling himself dramatic but he cannot stop his mind from deciding that it is quiet. Too quiet.

Grif actually manages to sleep for three hours and today he is… Curious is one if the words that can be used to describe him. Locus does not appreciate the curiosity though he was grateful the first time Grif left him alone to explore.

Now the lack of Grif is unnerving.

Locus curses under his breath and leaves the cockpit.

He finds him the room where he has stashed the numerous weapons he has gained through his time as a mercenary. Grif is currently holding a rifle that can pulverize a man.

There are other more preferable ways to die.

He tears the weapon away from him. “No.”

Grif actually tries to reach for it. “But-“

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw.”

Locus places the rifle on the tallest shelf, locks the room, confiscates Grif’s lockpicks and ignores the puppy eyes. 

* * *

“…You know Game of Thrones actually happened, right?”

Locus is busy controlling the ship while mentally going over which infiltration strategies that would most likely end in success so he is taken by surprise when Grif suddenly asks that question from the seat next to him. “What?”

Grif shrugs. “It’s a little known fact. I kinda thought I guy like you would have known about it but-“

He has turned his head now, visor fixated on the orange soldier. “Please tell me you are aware of how disturbingly wrong you are.”

“I’m telling you, it’s the real thing!” Grif throws up his arms in frustration before leaning back in his seat, enjoying the view in front of them. Hours earlier he kept himself busy by counting the stars they passed.

“Truly?” Locus inhales slowly before turning his head as well, looking into the darkness of space. “You must know how it ends, then.”

Grif snorts. “Dude, no way I’m giving you spoilers. That’s what the internet is for.”

“I see.” Locus tries not to sound amused. He should not be amused by an obvious lie. Grif has a good poker face, though.

Grif manages to stay quiet for five seconds before the question is brought up again. “Can I drive now?”

“No.” 

* * *

“I can draw an x on your helmet if you want,” Grif offers the next day. He has taken off his own armor, the helmet at least, as he has grown more comfortable on the ship. He insists there is no need to wear armor when not in an actual fight. Locus wonders if anyone has introduced him to the idea of assassins.

“No thanks.”

Grif wriggles his body to get in a comfortable position while curled up in his seat. “This is awesome.”

Of all things to leave Grif’s mouth – and Locus has heard a bit of everything by now – he has not expected that comment. “How so?”

He frowns. “I mean, we fucked up. I was a stupid idiot and quit, and you had your whole killing people for money thing. And now they all hate us.” Grif looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. “But now we’re here and you can kick ass and we’re going to save them and make things right. Road of redemption and all that.”

The silence lasts eleven seconds. New record.

Surprisingly, Locus is the one to break it. “You are comparing your sabbatical with genocide?” He is curious because he does not understand how one is capable of thinking those things are equal sins.

Grif draws in a shaky inhale. “I really fucked up.” He blinks rapidly, eyes going from distant to excited. “But now we are saving the day. No more selfishness. Done that, over that. Only thing on my menu from now on is doing the right thing. Yep.” He breathes in again, wringing his hands as he stares right ahead, maybe counting the stars they are yet to pass. “Gonna be awesome.”

Locus follows his stare.

“Can I drive?”

Locus sighs and considers his answer.

**Author's Note:**

> “That's a frightfully big duckling” is an actual line from H.C. Andersen’s fairytale “The ugly duckling” which I truly grew up with and which Hazk introduced to the discussion about duckling Grif following Locus around. Let Grif shine this season. So this is a gift for my friend Hazk who compared Grif with a duckling and I fell in love with the idea. I hope you enjoyed, Hazk.
> 
> This was fun to write though I have no idea of what I am doing. Both Locus and hyper Grif dialogue is hard to get right.
> 
> I hope they will get more interactions together in the show, I need them to be buds.
> 
> I'm riathedreamer on tumblr in case you wanna prompt me or see my rvb and fic ramblings.


End file.
